Daisy Dead Petals
by CampionSayn
Summary: Post S1-E11: Chain of Command. There had to be a cooling off period for Garth after both losing his family home and losing the position of team leader. So what did he do?


_Warm Grey Flannel._ The color was not something Garth really liked to look at, or attach himself to after leaving home for the Legion, but it was the only thing in his closet that wasn't spandex or in the dirty clothes hamper. Also the only thing he could give of himself that fit his mood with blood in his mouth and a ringing silence in his head that he hoped Imra wouldn't notice from all the way across the skyline with the others out on patrol.

There is darkness along the skyline that had been prevalent, in Garth's opinion, since Ayla had gone missing. Nights without her had left Garth antsy and cold, angry and without much real sleep.

There is light glowing on the petals of still new flowers blooming violet and pink and the like in the paper wrapping he'd folded them in after plucking them from the field he had left hours ago; the sun had sunk below the horizon of the city, so the glow wasn't natural, but Garth didn't take offense like he would have when he was young and hated artificial light touching blooms or trees.

He sighed, moving out of his room to go to the lounge area, bringing the flower collection along to work on them and take some points off of his degree of anger. It was something for someone else, it could make him feel better perfectly given enough concentration and time-one he had plenty of when alone with thoughts ringing in his head like wind-chimes in a hurricane and one he hoped would drag on longer than usual if some of the other Legionnaires found pick-pockets or easy things they could laugh about while he sat in a chair he had to kick out from behind the table and then collapsed onto.

The flowers were laid out after he unrolled them and he considered, "Okay, let's see what can work for Imra."

 _Buttered Yellow Daisies._

He'd left those back on his home planet, wouldn't have picked them even if they hadn't been out in the open of the storm, petals like a whirlwind and stems in pieces shredded along the open roads and foot paths he'd looked over once more for injured or missing. Had he the option, he wouldn't even make a chain out of them.

 _Lavender Blues._

No, he can see himself too much in this color, in this light (though he's not as pretty) it doesn't really fit the psychic and makes him wretched inside where doubt lingers in memory. He touches the blooms, but sets his hands to the others in an attempt to ignore the thoughts of water pouring over Colossal Boy as hands much larger than Garth's tried to clog up and fix fissures in a damn that had cause to flood many times when the days seemed longer and Mekt was always reminding Garth as well as Ayla, _"This area can be dangerous in a hurry. If you're ever crossing the field when it's raining, you run; you hear me?"_

 _Primrose Pink._

...Maybe, though he didn't want to be as predictable as everyone in his immediate team seemed to think he was. Especially Cosmic Boy _(Bouncy might be team leader now, but Rokk was still himself)._

 _Hyacinth Hues._

Garth actually took pause, hand hovering over the flora, petals just cresting the tips of his fingers, feeling of sleek and almost contemplative sweet skin and smelled wonderful; and yet, "Too much like Brainy," popped out of Garth's mouth and he moved alone, picking those particular flowers from the others and placing them on the other side of the table. Now that he thought about the similarity in resemblance to Brainy's eye color and suit, he probably wouldn't forget about it until later...like, a lot later. And he'd have to remember not to laugh if the Coluan came back early; attempting to answer Brainiac 5's questions on amusement never truly ended well for anyone, let alone Garth when he's moody.

 _"The Iris is an eye..."_

And then Garth had a song playing in the back of his head that he recalled loving in its authenticity and its originality, but couldn't for the life of him remember where he'd picked it up from. It wasn't from Ayla, she hadn't listened to anything with a violin playing that loud. It wasn't from Mekt, because it brought to mind his hidden music collection Garth found out while snooping in his elder brother's room when he'd taken off, before Garth had met Rokk and Imra and saved a life and started an entirely new one. It was weird, though, since the song seemed like a memory, but it wasn't his own...

 _Bone Gloss._

Yes, that was probably the better choice. _Lady Hooks_ would have been a nice touch, but he doesn't have the material or the patience or the protection for his fingers to try that for the time being; he didn't want to bleed all over chlorophyll veins like a mutilated paintbrush. He just wanted to relax, give the crown to Imra, and be done with thoughts of the framed picture he had leaving behind on the bare bones of a farm the Legion had left his parents with.

He wasn't the best in his family at making the soft, beautiful crowns _(he'd never admit it, he wasn't bitter enough and he didn't want to spill it like a secret; like ants bleeding out of their home to cover and spread over rotten candy, but Mekt was best at this sort of thing. He could always find the right meaning, the right size, the right color of flower for any specific person; those long fingers of his always, in days long behind them, seeking out to pinch Garth's ear and drop a wreath of yellow-silver-green Fairy Laughter and red fern atop the ginger's head and then simply calling Ayla over like she was a princess; a headdress of giant white Peony, Roses and Queen Ann's Lace pure and perfect on her)_ but he wasn't bad at it.

"...And anyway," he murmured to himself, binding stems and careful of the petals of the little white flowers with their yellow spots, "She'd look good with a paper bag on her head."

"Why thank you, Garth, that's sweet."

He felt the shadow over his shoulder and smelled the coffee before he noticed the floating girl, but he still almost jumped out of his seat as Imra came to take a chair across from him. Two coffees were carefully set on the table beside the pile of floral rejection, one cup filled with honey and one with two lumps of sugar swirling around the bottom like microscopic diamonds and pearls, both steaming and making Imra seem hazy from across the table, "I didn't know you could do this sort of thing."

"Well... you know, it's not like I would broadcast this, and the gardens around here aren't the best to pick from and I have really stubby fingers and...yeah."

Imra leaned over and plucked out a bloom rejected; pink petals much lighter and softer than the uniform Imra wore everyday. She spun the smallest of the primroses between her fingers, sipping her honey coffee and smiling as warm or even more-so than the drink itself, and just as sweet, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Garth?"

He didn't reply, still embarrassed, but unwinding from the figure of a coiled trap when his favorite person in the world leaned forward and tucked the primrose behind his ear like one would do with a cigarette or a stylus pen. Imra couldn't be bothered to react when Garth cleared his throat and continued on with winding and looping the flowers' blooms and stems into more of a circle and less of a half-moon falling apart at the seams.

"...I try."


End file.
